


Mothra

by Cloudy_Serendipity



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Steve Rogers - Fandom, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Bugs & Insects, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Giant Moth, Hair-pulling, Oral Sex, Reader-Insert, Rough Sex, Sex, ruined orgasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:33:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudy_Serendipity/pseuds/Cloudy_Serendipity
Summary: Mission complete and you’re hiding out in a mountain cabin awaiting your next extraction window. What better for you and Steve to do to pass the time than fuck each other’s brains out?  It’s all going awesomely until you’re interrupted.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 61
Collections: Cloudy's Star Spangled Bingo 2020





	Mothra

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [@stuckonjbbarnes](https://tmblr.co/mhwANKy1SCJ5_KwBEZbhWiw) 250 follower celebration, dialog prompt: “You whined that he was alive, and you whine now that I killed him.” “There’s just no pleasing you, is there?” (In bold and underline) and combined with [@star-spangled-bingo](https://tmblr.co/mTNtdGFNuwtQwa46vGiHZrQ) SSB2020 square filled: “I’m just trying to sound tough” (In bold).
> 
> Thank you to [@sassy-pelican](https://tmblr.co/m8SzzhYFVVhILoDZ7V3_g7A) for reading this through for me <3 I had a lot of fun writing this smutfest. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> **Warnings:** INSECTS / MOTHS. Graphic depictions of sex. Rough sex. Mentions of past angst. Bad language. **18+ only!**
> 
> [Ref IMG for Mothra](https://images.app.goo.gl/y1HQhUDDgjj9vMmu6) \- don't click if you don’t like big ass insects!

Sweat beads in your hair line, threatening to trickle forth on a path that will take it down your temple, over the line of your jaw and down the taut curve of your neck. Breaths are expressed as sighs and moans, your sweat-slicked throat exposed to the breeze from the window, exquisitely cool in contrast to the heat flushing your whole body. Why is a cabin way up in the mountains so damn hot?

Steve tugs harder, his hand fisted in your hair pulling your head back, making you arch into an impossibly acute angle as he pounds you from behind. The depth of his thrusts and his punishing pace is obnoxiously punctuated by the wet slap of his skin meeting yours. He’s so deep it’s painful, the tip of his cock glancing against your sweet spot just enough to make it good for you right before he’s slamming your cervix ruthlessly. You’re sure your ovaries are already mush but it hurts so fucking good all you can do is not piss yourself.

Hands gripping the crumpled sheets that have seen too much action in the last two days to be sanitary, thighs quaking as you ride the ridge between euphoria and the strained tension of seeking it. You’re a mess, but you’re _his_ mess. He hasn’t said so much but you’ve been together for months. The chemistry between you before the Chitari attack on New York exploded in a frenzied rut afterwards. It was as much survivor’s guilt as it was a celebration of your continued existence, and you’d been fucking ever since.

Steve grunts. A momentary break in the rhythm of his thrusts tells you he’s getting close, the swell of his cock against the heat of your cunt a prelude to your next orgasm; it’s been building for a while, struggling against the numbness of previous orgasms but it’s almost there now, right on the edge.

You cry out, a breath held too long escapes like a wail and your pleasure climbs further, crawling under your skin until there are tears in your eyes. It hurts but it’s exquisite and he knows he has you, he knows you’ll come when he does and _that_ drives him crazy. That connection you have, that symmetry, it’s always been there in the way you work together, the way you fight, the way you take his cock like no one else ever has. It’s not love, but he needs you and he knows you need him too, and that’s enough.

“You like that? Huh?” He grinds out through gritted teeth, the aggression left over from your last mission is still there, not quite fucked away, yet. “You like it when I fuck you raw?”

You do. You like anything he gives you. From the tender care and caress of love-making to the sharp pain of pinched and slapped skin, and being used and fucked so hard you can’t remember your own name.

“Sir, yes Sir!” You wail through the pleasure, unable to stifle the noise the way he has you arched back. Breath ragged and throat raw from panting, you grin when he loses control; a surprised gasp of pleasure – you have never called him ‘Sir’ before, but he seems to like it.

“Fuck yes! Take my cock!” He all but roars as he makes you feel every inch of him.

The spasms start and you’re almost there, grunting and growling together as he starts to come. You can feel it, the pressure of his spunk being forced deeper with each thrust. You tighten even more, cresting the wave of pleasure with a high-pitched keening noise you never knew you could make.

Suddenly you’re pitched face-first into the mattress, empty and panicked as your orgasm slips away like water down a drain. Steve is spluttering and flapping his hands in the air, knocking the light so it casts erratic shadows around the room.

“JESUS-FUCK!” He shouts, hoarse and angry. You’ve never heard Steve swear anywhere except when he’s buried in you balls deep.

Tears are filling your eyes; the come-down from your failed euphoric high isn’t pretty. “What the FUCK, Steve?”

You watch him stumble off the bed and crash to the floor, struggling backward with his glistening erection slapping his thighs as he shuffles on his hands and ass. He looks terrified, backed up against the cabin wall scanning for some unknown horror. Anger gives way to your autonomic danger response. Purely on instinct you snatch up your handgun and aim where he’s pointing.

“It’s still alive!” He wheezes, wide-eyed with terror.

“What is?” You search frantically past the swinging lightbulb, anything that has him this scared can’t be good. “I can’t see anything!”

“Up there!” He squeals, cowering behind his arms and you finally see the beast; mottled brown and entirely too big to be natural.

It takes flight, dusty wings carrying it towards Steve once more in a slow attack that has him panicking more. He’s petrified and static, frozen by fright. Who knew Steve Rogers was afraid of _moths_?

You jump into action. Scooping up on of Steve’s discarded gauntlets you wield it like a flail, the stiff leather of the forearm acting as the beater. It’s a swing for the S&M hall of fame, and you strike the winged demon with as much force as you can muster. Pitching the huge critter out of the air, you won’t forget the dull smack it makes against the leather, nor the thump against cabin wall it hits right after.

Pouncing, you pulverise the giant moth against the wood floor with Steve’s blue leather until it’s nothing but dust and mangled limbs. Even dead it’s a chilling sight. A shiver slinks down your spine. You aren’t afraid of wildlife but that grotesque monstrosity gave you a case of the heebie-jeebies.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” Steve asks curiously as he peeks at the dead moth.

“No, Steve,” you say flatly as you scoop the corpse up with Steve’s gauntlet, “Mothra over here is just taking a beauty nap – _of course I killed him_!”

“Poor thing.”

“Are you serious?” You’re shocked by his sudden compassion.

“I never said to kill him.”

“ **You whined that he was alive, and you whine now that I killed him**.” You scoff incredulously. “ **There’s no pleasing you is there?** ”

“Well-”

“Should I try to revive him?” You thrust the corpse of Mothra towards Steve, who scrambles to his feet.

“No-no-no” he cautiously moves aside, “ **I’m just trying to sound tough** , or at least tougher.”

“I’m totally convinced.” You chuckle as you dump Mothra out the window unceremoniously. “And now I think you owe me.” You smirk as an idea pops into your head.

“But-”

“Twice!” You stalk him backwards towards the bed, a predatory glint in your eyes.

“I don’t-”

“Once for the moth,” you back him up until his calves hit the frame, “and once for the ruined orgasm.” You push him and he falls, bouncing on the mattress with a wolfish grin. The realisation of what’s to come exciting him once more.

“Alright soldier,” Steve props himself up on his elbows to watch you climb up his body, “I’ll give you what you want.”

“Not this time.” You crawl up him until you’re straddling his chest. “This time I take what I want.”

He moans as you settle yourself on his face, his mouth smothered by your mound. The mess between your thighs is slicking his jaw and cheeks but he doesn’t seem to care as you grind yourself on him.

Licking and sucking and eager to please you, Steve devours you like his last meal. And as you look down the flat plane of your stomach to watch him you can’t help but smirk at the embellishment he’s sporting; a shimmery dusting of grey on his left cheek - Mothra’s kiss.

A light laugh escapes your lips as you race towards your climax. One final thought before you lose all coherent thought: _Captain America is afraid of moths_.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to let me know what you think with kudos or comments, I love hearing from you guys <3


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